


Jealous

by marysoljames



Category: johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Death, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:17:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marysoljames/pseuds/marysoljames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story surrounds the song of Jealous by Labrinth. Sherlock Holmes has become curious with the constant disappearances of his best friends John Watson. One day Sherlock decides to go figure out what his dear friend is doing and is shocked by the discovery</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small side note, if anything is inaccurate I wrote this for a friend BEFORE I had ever watched the show. This is strictly based on whatever information my friend had told at the time about the show. If you have any problems with that then don't read, but if you want to see Johnlock through the eyes of someone who had never known, at the time, what a ship even was, then enjoy the adventure! Also this is my first piece of work, if you have any suggestions for anything please let me know.

Today marked the one year anniversary of when John and I met. Although we didn't get along at first, I had always felt a connection to him. We’ve grown close but lately have been separating. John had begun to disappear to go "out.”. He never said what he was doing or who he was going with, but I couldn't help but feel as if he weren't telling me everything. Was he seeing someone? No, impossible. He would have told me, but I couldn't help but dwell on the thought. A spark of jealousy came over me.

  
Stop, Sherlock, it will never happen.

I’ve always known it would never happen, John and I, but a small glimmer of hope would spark every now and then, when his hand would brush against mine. I could feel a spark pass through us, being able to read each other's moods when others couldn't, the way we could speak to each other without words, and just a small glance of his beautiful brown eyes, but it would never happen.  
John had disappeared again. Where could he have gone? Why does the apartment feel so large today? Normally, I'm consumed by my work and don't notice the absence as much, but it had been slow lately and with no work for me, I had nothing to do.

I think I'll go for a walk.

The cold air always seems to make me feel calm, or is it because I think I'll see John? I toss the thought aside and head out. I begin to walk up and down the streets with no purpose, just to think.  
What is he doing? Is he with someone? If so, who? Is it a girl? The question returns again. Once again, I ignore it. As I continue to walk, the question won't leave. I find myself looking for his face in the crowd as I walk. The more I think, the more I begin to think that we would never happen.

We wouldn't be the couple that walks and holds hands, that compliments each other, who feels like they were made for each other. I realize I would never have a happily every after. John would never love me the way I love him.

A sudden tug on the shoulder brings me out of my trance. I cross the street and almost get hit by a car.

Get it together, Sherlock.

No matter how hard I try, it won't go away. Maybe I should go inside a shop. I go inside the first door I see. It's a music shop. I see the guitars that hang from the walls and a few children who try to play. The music distracts me. I continue to explore. In the back is a piano. It looks beautiful. A man is sitting on the bench with a music sheet. I try to guess what he's playing. Mozart? Beethoven? Bach? I don't recognize it.  
The man begins to sing. "I'm jealous of the rain that falls upon your skin. It's closer than my hands have been."

The words hit me like bricks. I feel a connection to them. I try to grasp every word and meaning.

"As I sing in the sand and watch you slip through my hands."

These words touch me more than the rest.

When he finishes, the people who stopped to listen applaud, but I am frozen. The song told a story of how a man let his love go hoping she would return, but she never did. He was never able to let her know how he felt about her.

I thought of John. If I don't tell him, he will slip away, but what if he doesn't feel the same way? I have to try. I leave the shop and begin to look for John. Where is he? I text him. No response. I call him. No answer.  
Where would John go? The park. I can't think of anywhere else he would be. As I run, I scan the crowd looking for his face. I have to tell him before he slips away. The song plays over and over in my head. I run faster.

As I grow nearer and nearer to the park I feel the courage within me grow stronger and stronger. Almost there. Almost there. I can't hold in how I feel anymore. I can see the couples in the park now and I imagine us taking romantic strolls and stealing kisses from each other as we talk. Once I get to the park I scan the crowd. Not by the entrance. I remember the fountain and how he loved to see it light up at night. That's where I run next.

I can feel my happily ever after get closer and closer. I suddenly see part of John's coat from behind a tree. My heart races. I feel the words trying to force their way out. I slow down when I begin to near him and open my mouth to say the words. But John is not alone. As I get closer I watch as they begin to kiss. My world shatters.

I watch John as his hands move from the woman's waist and begin to move lower. I can't move. I don't remember saying anything but John breaks apart from their embrace and looks in my direction.

"Sherlock, I can explain."

I barely hear his words. Why do I suddenly feel so cold? The words play through my head again: "As I sing in the sand and watch you slip through my hands."

I was too late. John tries to approach me but I begin to slowly back away. Why does my chest hurt? I see the pain in his eyes. Those brown eyes that I loved. I begin to run. I hear John call for me but his shouts sound like whispers. Tears run down my face. It has to be a dream. John would never do this me. Their kiss replays in my head over and over. John loves me. I see his hands touch her body. I keep running, wiping my tears and covering my ears.

"Sherlock, I can explain..." His voice follows me.

I keep running until I trip on the uneven path. I see the scrape on my hands but feel nothing. I get up, and I am at Tower Bridge. I look down at thames river; it water is icy black. That's how I feel inside. This has to be a dream. I have to wake up. I try pinching myself and opening and closing my eyes.

"Why won't I wake up?" I mumble. Maybe I have to be in bed. When I get up I realize how sore my legs are. I search my pocket to get money for a cab. I left it at home. I begin the long walk home, and with every step getting closer it's either waking up from a nightmare or realizing I am living in one. I check my phone to see what time it is.11:24 and I have eight missed calls and fifteen messages from John. What will I do? What will I say?

I get home at midnight. When I come in John is there, waiting for me on the couch. I know I can't avoid it. I walk over and sit.

"Sherlock, I promise I can explain! It's not what it looked like!" John said.

"Then what the hell was it, John? Because it looked as if you were going to second base with that slut at the park!" I don't recognize the voice that said those words but I know they're mine.  
John looks at me, dumbfounded. "She's not a slut. Her name is Mary, and that kiss meant nothing!"

”Well, it meant something to me! Why didn't you just tell me you were going out on dates? I thought we were friends.”

Those last words hurt as they come out and I see the sadness in John’s eyes spread.

”We are still friends. The reason I didn't tell you is because… well… I didn't know if I wanted it.”

”What do you mean you didn't know if you wanted it?”

He hesitates with his response -- what does it mean? “Sherlock, for the past year I've been happier than ever, having this job, this apartment, the friends we’ve made, and… I wanted to know if I could have a relationship with someone.” He doesn't look at me when he speaks. He hates me, I know it.

I go through his list over and over in my head; I am not on there. I do not make him happy.

”Well, you have all of those now, don't you? Tell me, are you happy?”

He finally looks up at me and begins to stand. "Sherlock, you need to know the truth. That kiss you saw didn't make me feel the way I wanted to. I’ve been trying to find someone who can replace this feeling inside me. I’ve been dating to find someone who does that, but I was stupid to think someone could replace the person that makes me feel the happiest...”

He grabs my shoulders and lifts me from the couch. I look straight into his eye, and turn away. I can't bear to hear his next words. John grabs my chin and turns my head to him so he can look at me.

"Sherlock, its you.” Tears well in my eyes. He loves me.

I grab his shirt and pull him towards me. We kiss. At first, he is stiff, but it only lasts a second. He begins to kiss back. It feels as wonderful as I have imagined. I dont want to, but I pull away. I have to tell him something.

“John, the reason I was so upset was because I thought I’d lost you forever. That kiss, I thought it meant more than it did, and it broke me. The reason I went looking for you was because I was ready to tell you… ”  
John steals a kiss from me. "What were you going to tell me?”

I laugh and smile. "Why don't I show you?”

I don't remember what happens next. It's all a blur. When I wake up we are in bed and John is in my arms. It wasn't a dream. I breath a sigh of relief. He’s still asleep; I don't want to wake him, so I just lie there and listen to him breathing. Maybe happily ever afters do happen. I eventually fall back to sleep, but when I wake up again I’m lying on the cold cement.

It was a dream. How stupid could I be? Of course it was. But why does it still hurt? I touch my forehead; there's a bump. I must have hit my head and passed out. Why did it have to be a dream? I look over the edge of the bridge again. Why do the cold waters seem welcoming? It offers an escape from this world, this cruel world of sadness.

Should I do it? I begin to climb over the fence that separates me from the world. I look down at the water again. It waits for me, its icy hands beckoning me to come closer. I close my eyes. If I jump I’ll never see John again, but if I don't I’ll live a life of misery.

I cry - I don't want to die, but it’s the only way out. I see his face.

"I love you John, and I’ll never love anyone else,” I whisper.

I let go of the ledge and the last thing I feel is the Thames River's fingers wrapping around me and giving me my escape.


	2. Chapter 2

I waited for Sherlock all night, but he never came home. How could I have been so careless? I never meant to kiss her. It just happened. When I saw him there, I could see his whole world fall apart. I said that I would explain, but could I really? I had kept my relationship with Mary a secret from him, but why? Whenever he asked where I was going I wanted to tell him, but the words just wouldn't come. 

It was four in the morning. Where was he? Should I go look for him? No, he’ll find his way back; he always does. Should I call again? No, he won't answer. Where could he be? I decide to freshen up to go look for him. By the time I'm done, there's a knock on the door. Who would visit someone at this hour? When I look through the peep hole, it's Lestrade.  
Maybe he can help. I open the door and welcome him in, but I notice his face is grim. Why? 

"Lestrade, have you seen Sherlock? He hasn't returned home since last night, and I'm getting concerned." 

He stands there and won't look me in the eyes as he speaks, ”John… I know where Sherlock is; let me take you to him.”

“Oh no, it's fine. I can go myself. Just tell me where he is.”

”No, John, just please.” I don’t understand. Why won’t he the let me go?

The drive to Sherlock is quiet. I try to ask where we’re going but Lestrade doesn’t respond. I give up after my third attempt. Why won’t he tell me? Did Sherlock get in trouble? Do I have to bail him out again? Oh, God, what has he done now?

I see police lights in the distance. I wonder what happened. As Lestrade drives, we head towards the lights.

“Why are we heading toward the police scene?” I ask him. 

He considers his response. “I need you to see something.” 

Why would he take me on an investigation at a time like this? 

“Lestrade, I don’t have the time. I need to find Sherlock.” 

He just parks the car and gets out. I walk behind him as he flashes his badge to go look at what happened. 

“Lestrade, if you needed help, you should have just told me instead of lying and telling me you knew where Sherlock…” My voice trails off. 

At the bank of the river, I can see a body. I don’t need to see the face to know it’s him. His curls reveal the corpse’s identity. I cant breathe. I can’t look away. I slowly approach him, expecting him to bolt up at any second. Why isn’t he breathing? I feel the tears stream down my face. He can’t be. I cup his face in my hands. Why is he so cold? Even with the things I had seen in the war, this couldn’t compare to any of it. I feel a hand on my shoulder. When I look up, I can see it’s Lestrade. 

“Cameras on the north side of the bridge caught him jumping. I know this is hard for you, but do you know what could have caused him to jump?” 

At first I shake my head. I can’t find any words. But then I remember the look in his eye, the way everything fell apart and the person responsible. 

I still still hear the last words he said to me: “John, why?” I look at his face, his cold, pale face. How could I have been so stupid? I cry into his jacket until Lestrade says it’s time to go. I watch them put his tall, lanky figure inside a bag. It’s all my fault.

After Lestrade drops me off at the flat, I don’t know what to do. I feel numb inside. I just go and lie on Sherlock’s bed. His smell only makes me cry again. It’s all my fault.  
“Do you know what caused him to jump?” The words echo in my head. 

If only I had told him, maybe it would have ended differently. It’s all my fault. He must have hated me for what I had done, to have wanted it to end this way. I could have stopped him. Why didn’t I chase after him? I am the one responsible for this. 

At night I cry on and off with the smallest things. When I look at his chair, his clothes, his desk, it all hurts so much. Eventually I would have to tell people what happened. What would they think of me then? I don’t tell everyone what happened till the next day. When they ask for details, my throat closes up and I can’t speak. Every time this happens, I hear his words: ”John, why?” 

The wake is two days later, and I almost don’t go, but Mrs. Hudson drags me with her. I can’t even look at him. I cry the whole time, but the thing that hurts the most is when Mrs. Hudson looks me straight in the eye and says, “John, it’s okay. You couldn’t have done anything. It’s not your fault.” 

I nod, but I know it’s a lie. The funeral is the next day. It’s the last time I will ever be able to see his face. 

We all tell him thanks and goodbyes. I am the last to go up. Everyone watches as I walk up to his casket. The world seems to move in slow motion. When I finally reach it, I can’t help but let out a sob. It hurts to see him like this. I look at his curls, his face, his lips. I try to memorize everything. 

I had been thinking of what I wanted to say to him all day. Nothing had come to mind until now. I lean over the casket to say my last words to him.  
“Please, forgive me, Sherlock. I never meant to hurt you,” I whisper into his ear. 

I hold his hand one last time and cry into it. They eventually pull me away so they can lower him into the ground. I can’t watch. When it’s all over, people come to embrace me. They all say, “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

They don’t know what I did. I haven’t told anyone what I did. that I’m the cause of this. How could Sherlock ever forgive me?

For the next few days I can’t eat or sleep or think of anything else but that look of heartbreak on his face. I can’t stand to be in the flat anymore; it just reminds me too much of him. It feels so empty without him and his questions. Mrs. Hudson stops by and tries to get me to eat, but it just makes me feel sick. I spend a lot more time outside, and my clothes no longer fit. It is all my fault. Sometimes I think I see him in the crowd with that look of heartbreak. I always chase after him. It’s never him. 

One day on my chase I see him in the music store. Why there? I walk in, and I can feel the calm of the place. They play music over the loud system. It has a deep tone, and a raspy voice sings, his words call to me. I feel a single tear fall down my face. I am too late. I let him slip away. I leave. Once I get back home, I grab one of his shirts in my fists and cry until I fall asleep. I let him slip away. 

It’s been a week since it’s happened. I still hurt, still feel numb. This is my punishment. 

“Why did I never go after you?” I whisper as I sit curled up in his chair, trying to hold on to whatever is left of him. I wish I could hear his voice one more time, feel his touch one more time, and to see his lips one more time. I wish I could do what I have always dreamed of. It’s all my fault. 

“John, why?” 

Why did those have to be his last words to me? Why didn’t I go after him? I look over to my laptop. I haven’t updated my blog since Sherlock died, and I have a feeling I never will again. Without Sherlock, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. I would never have another adventure again, not with him gone forever. 

“Or maybe I can join you?” 

Why hadn’t I thought of it before? It seemed so easy, so logical. There was only one thing left for me to do before I joined him. 

I go to my laptop with new inspiration. I don’t care what others will think. I want the world to know. They need to know. I had never thought of how I would tell the world, but the words flow out. As soon as I post, I’m out the door. I don't stop for anyone. The tears stream down my face. I don’t know how I still have any left. 

“We’ll be together soon,” I mumble as I run for the bridge. This is how I’m forgiven. This is how he will accept me again. I’m so close; I can see the tower bridge. Sherlock jumped from sadness. I’ll jump in to prove my loyalty. I don’t think about it until I’m there. How far I will fall? How long will it take? How long would I suffer? The thought scares me, but I don’t think, I do. I hurry over to the ledge and look at its icy water. Somehow, I know this is what Sherlock did before he jumped. I climb over before someone can stop me. I give it one last glance and smile as I feel tears fall down my face.

“We’ll be together again soon.” I let go, and I can see Sherlock as I fall into the arms of the Thames.


	3. Chapter 3

Dear readers,  
I know that most of you have heard the tragic news about my partner Sherlock. He was a good man. We had many wonderful adventures. He satisfied my thirst for danger; he gave me something to look forward to everyday, and, whether it made me happy or completely angry with him, it made me feel complete.  
Sherlock will be missed by many but not as much as I will. 

For the past two years, our bond has grown stronger and stronger with each day, each fight, each laugh, each look, and each touch. Nothing could ever replace what we had. People have alway looked at us and said, "Is he your partner?" 

I would give them a bewildered look and simply say, "No!" 

I never understood what they saw; to me, he was my best friend. But now I can see what everyone else did: the way he seemed to stand taller when I was beside him. The way he would always try to impress me. The way that he would look at me with those eyes. The way he got so protective towards me. The way his face would light up when he looked at me with that smile I loved. And the way he would refuse to let me have a date without his company. 

I was blind not to see them, all these wonderful things he did. I only wish I could tell him all these things, but now it's too late. I was so selfish not to see what was right in front of me. To not see what everyone else saw, that the bond we had was stronger than friendship. 

I wish I could tell him the way I felt. The way I would melt when he looked at me with those crystal blue eyes. The way his laugh would bring butterflies to my stomach. The way his touch would send shocks through my body. That only comes from love. A love I wish the world could see walk down Baker Street. A love they could see walk down the aisle. A love that would last forever. 

Now I must pay the price for the debt I have made taking that gift from the world. Because of my selfishness, Sherlock is dead. 

I never told the police a reason for his suicide, why he might have done it, but I will tell you now. Sherlock died because of the love I refused to see. Now, I will join him in his next adventure, to a world beyond ours. 

Sherlock, I know you can't read this now, but I want you to know that I love you, and we will never be apart. Now, let's go have another adventure. I'm beginning to twitch again.

John H. Waton


End file.
